


The Voice

by DistantStorm



Series: The Hunters' Vanguard [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Hearing Voices, I promise, Really just sad and dark, References to Suicide, it will cheer up eventually, post Forsaken, steelponcho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:25:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: I’ve been having weird dreams lately.Suraya Hawthorne has been hearing a voice when she dreams. And sometimes, she hears it when she's awake.





	1. Scattered Petals in my Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a whole lot different than most of my other Destiny fics scattered between here and Tumblr. I'm trying to expand my horizon, and this little piece is an experiment. I expect this bit to have 2-3 parts, give or take, and then continue into another small series of fics. I'm known for focusing on tough women, so expect this one to be mostly centered around Hawthorne and likely ignore whatever is about to be canon in the Destinyverse.

I’ve been having weird dreams lately.

Every time I try to sleep, I hear a voice calling me, telling me it’s almost time, I’m almost there. I’m falling, grasping at petals in the wind.

Everything around me is so bright, so warm. I feel as though I am something more than myself. Like there’s something I’m supposed to be doing, I just don’t know what it is yet.

Sometimes, there is a darkness clawing at me, so black it is nearly blue, trying to devour my soul, to tear me to pieces. Roots and vines dragging me down, down, until I can no longer feel the warmth or see the light.

And when I wake up, I feel empty. I wake up crying, sometimes.

That’s the part that scares me most of all.

There’s something I have to do. I have to get going.

I want to run and run until I disappear.

I have to run before the darkness comes.

-/

No one has any answers.

Zavala says that if the Speaker were alive, he would have wisdom that could help. But he is not, and Zavala is by nature a practical man. He tries to listen, but he does not understand. He tries to be available, but there is much work to do. When he asks me now, I lie. It’s easier, I tell myself, when he holds me close and I do not have the heart to tell him the truth. At least this one burden will not fall across his shoulders.

Ikora is distracted by visions of her own. She believes my dreams are a remnant of the war, of fire and ash and the things the Red Legion has taken from me. Of my self-imposed prison sentence, chained to this Tower. You were always free before this war, She tells me. Perhaps you feel as though you are trapped here. Our dreams are symbolic. She is trying to weave through the symbols in her own dreams: candles and fire and crowns and trees. The Traveler is speaking to her, she says. It is a far more important task than listening to the fever dreams of a wayward human.

Cayde is not the person I would go to, for answers. But he listens with a cocksure grin, and does not judge me for the voice I hear in my head. Instead, when I finish, he frowns in concern, but tells me he thinks it will all work out alright. We all hear voices sometimes. If the voice tells me to do something that will hurt myself, I’m supposed to tell him. Otherwise, I should listen. Sometimes the voices we hear are just pieces of ourselves we’ve forgotten.

I do not rest any easier for it, but I am thankful to hear that I am just as crazy as everyone else.

-/

The day comes when Cayde does not come home.

I bury the feelings deep down, in the place where I keep visions of flower petals and vines of black. The Tower is in ruin. The Guardian has gone to claim revenge. Ikora praises them, telling them to follow the Light, to ignore Zavala. Zavala tells them he will not interfere, but he will not come to their rescue.

Grieving is an ugly, ugly process. It makes Ikora bitter and jaded, and sucks the brightness out of Zavala’s eyes. Even the solace of my embrace no longer comforts him. He is fraying around the edges. There is so little trust left here. He doesn’t ask about my dreams anymore, though, so I don’t feel like I’m lying to him and destroying what trust he’s placed in me, too.

The Hunters come to me naturally. They’ve sought me out since the City fell. The transition is natural, and despite the Consensus’ call for a new Hunter Vanguard, the only thing Ikora and Zavala can agree on these days is that they are not ready. So I fulfill the task without the name, because there is no other person in the Tower who can.

The voice in my dreams becomes more insistent.

 _I’m looking for you,_  it says.  _I have to find you._

 _Hurry,_  I say back.  _Are you coming?_

_I’m coming for you._

Sometimes, I think I can hear it, when I’m awake.

I know I should say something, should tell someone, but everyone is hurting. I can shoulder this burden, like I have shouldered every other.

Devrim is worried because I act like nothing has happened. He knows me well. But if I act like it has, I fear I will never recover. Keep it together, I tell myself. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it-

Out of the corner of my eye I think I see petals on the wind.

-/

The candles are lit for the Festival of the Lost. We have lost so much, clinging to what is left of us in our barely repaired haven. We keep losing more. A Vanguard, a Cryptarch. The countless civilians and guardians murdered by the Red Legion’s attempt to claim the Traveler. The ones slaughtered in strikes gone wrong. And yet, I smile. For Amanda. For Zavala. For Ikora. For all of those left to pick up the pieces. We should be celebrating our lives, I say. Honoring the dead and celebrating their sacrifice so that we may live. I wonder if Guardians look at it like that. They die and die and die, countless sacrifices. Zavala will not describe death to me, when I ask. I have never seen the look on his face, the one he takes on when I ask.

He is afraid.

I realize what he’s thinking.

He thinks I want…

Do I?

No. I do not. I tell him so.

He holds me tighter, and when he trembles, I know he knows the truth.

“The dreams haven’t gone away, Suraya,” he says to me. “I want to help you,” he pleads. He is desperate. He cannot take any more. “Please don’t go away,” he cries into my shoulder. “I could not bear-”

“You won’t,” I tell him, placing my hand over his heart. “I will always be with you. Even if I am not right here.”

It isn’t what he wants to hear. But I cannot promise him the immortality I do not have to give. But, sometimes, I wish-

 _I’m lost,_  the voice beckons. It is closer than I have ever heard.  _Help me. Rescue me._

And suddenly, I feel the pull.

I have to go. There is something I have to do.

So I run.

-/

 


	2. Finds Darkness All Around Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pilgrimage, the Guardian, and a choice.

I never wanted to come here. I remember telling Guardians of the dangers, but for some reason I can't take my own advice. My rifle feels heavier in my hands than usual. I'm tired.

_ Hurry, hurry. They're going to hurt me. _

The voice has become desperate. I've been traveling for days, snatching brief moments of sleep. The voice has been quiet when I sleep, now. The only time it called out, I opened my eyes to Fallen Marauders approaching the base of the tree I had been sleeping in the branches of.

_ Help me. I don't know where you are. _

_ I'm coming. Hold on. _

I know I should ask this voice who they are, what they want. But something in me says that seeing is believing and I-

I don't want to find out how insane I actually am until I have to.

Even though I know I am. It's all in my head.

Isn't it?

The Guardian appears out of nowhere, easily dispatching enemies that would have killed me otherwise. They don't speak, but I don't expect them to.

“I can't believe Cayde knew you would come here, to the Shard” Their Ghost chatters to me.

How did Cayde…?

_ There's no time, please come, save me! Save me! _

“...Hawthorne? Are you alright?”

I rebalance the weight of my rifle on my back, as if that's an answer. The Guardian's eyes meet mine. They are concerned. “Yeah… I, uh. There's something I have to do.”

The Ghost circles around me, looking worried and skeptical. “Zavala won't like this,” it settles on, finally.

Its Guardian reaches out and encircles its metal cones with surprisingly soft looking hands. The touch seems to say something to it. They nod to me, and I think that means this is our secret.

What I'm doing is selfish, and I know, more than anyone, what I'm doing to Zavala. My chest hurts at the thought of my disappearance must be doing to him. I can't bring myself to look at his messages.

_ They're going to kill me! I’m waiting for you. _

“We cannot follow you,” The ghost says softly, once its Guardian releases it. The blue optic blinks at me in resignation. “We can give you ammunition and weapons. You have to make the trip alone.”

The Guardian hands me a knife. It isn't like the utility one I keep in my boot. It's sharp and sheathed, made for killing. I haven't used one since the war, since the City fell, but I know how.

“Thank you.” They nod at me.

The Ghost transmats ammo into my pack; I can feel the weight of it when it lands with a gentle dip of heft.

They look at each other next. The Guardian hands me a folded piece of paper. The note on it says my name in familiar handwriting. I remember it from maps we'd pour over and scout reports I'd finish for him. My throat feels tight.

_ Suraya Hawthorne _ , it says. I’m surprised it’s not addressed to ‘Poncho.’

_ If you are reading this, it means you are about to go to the Shard because you are hearing things. No, you're not crazy, no matter what anyone says. _

_ If I'm right - and I'm right - then I hope you find what you're looking for without paying the price. Once you come out the other side of this one, come find me. Or, if I'm dead, the Guardian will help you.If that's how this goes, they’ve also swore not to tell Zavala or Ikora about whatever goes down here. I'll leave that mess up to you. You're welcome. _

_ Cayde _

_ PS: Hand Cannon, Staff, or Bow? Don’t ask why, just pick one. _

_ PPS: Choose wisely. _

“What does he-” I look up and the ghost has suspended the three weapons in the air in front of me. “Am I supposed to take one?”

The Guardian nods. They step back. Their Ghost flutters around them instead of me.

_ I'm coming, _ I remind the voice in my head.  _ One last thing and I'm on my way. _

_ Hurry, please. _

_ I am. _

None of the weapons look like much of anything I would pick. I have no skill with a sword and a staff would only hinder me in hand to hand combat. The hand cannon is useful enough, but the weight of it is almost too heavy - not right - in my hand.

I pick up the bow. It’s light, but not so light that it feels cheap or fake. I can move and hold this, like I would my rifle. Maybe easier.

“Okay,” I tell them. “I’ll take this.”

The Ghost transmats a belt with a quiver to my waist. Convenient thing, that.

The Guardian comes up to me and puts one hand on each of my shoulders. It’s a gentle, tentative squeeze. “Be safe,” They say, with a voice raspy from disuse. I don’t think I’ve ever heard them speak before.

They must know how important this is.

“We’ll wait here for you,” The Ghost says as I move on.

-/

The Shard of the Traveler has impermeated this land. It is a dark, cold place, with a dampness that seems to settle into my bones. I notch the bow as I approach, hearing clicks and chittering that doesn’t sound like Fallen.

Taken.

I’ve battled Taken before. They’re otherworldly, not in the alien way the regular Hive, Fallen, or Cabal are. They do not stagger or shake at death, they do not fear dying. It is as if they move with a will that is not their own. It’s frightening.

The water beneath my boots is black, and there is a hum in my head like white noise. It hurts. I want it to stop.

_ Please, please! I can feel you. You’re so close! _

_ I’m trying, _ I call back to the voice.  _ I’m trying. _

_ Find me. It’s so cold, too dark. I need you. _

The Taken Trall come immediately, their shadows drawn dark on the ground, the ichar as they fall black like vines. Pulling, dragging, trying to consume. I cannot fall.

I have something I have to do.

I drag the arrow back until the bow feels like it’s about to break. I cannot move quickly, or they will consume me.

_ Behind you! _

The bowstring relaxes as the shot is loosed, but there is an agonizing bite in my side. I reach for my knife by reflex alone, burying it to the hilt in my assailant’s head. It falls limp. I touch my side. I’m bleeding, but not badly enough to stop.

I can’t stop now.

I have to keep going.

The throngs of Taken only grow denser and denser. I scream and flail, firing wildly to pick off any number of them that I can. Legionaries join Vandals join Wizards and Thrall. 

_ It’s too much. They’re going to kill me. _

_ Don’t give up! _

_ There’s too many. I can’t defeat them all, _ I say, continuing to progress far slower than before.

_ Not by yourself, sure. But you aren’t alone, are you? _

_ But I am. _

_ No, you’re not. I can feel you. Can you feel me? _

_ I- _

Scratching. Clawing. Tearing. Fire. Cracking. Breaking. Pain. Agony. Scratching. Clawing. Tearing-Rain? Is it raining?

I manage to throw off the beast in front of me. It roars as it falls. I will not be able to take another direct assault. The rain seems to fall like a heavy curtain over me. But, it isn’t wet.

I hold my hand out.

Petals?

They are soft to the touch and warm on the wind as they fall.

They drift around me like a cyclone as the Taken Phalanx’s shield burst launches me in the air over the rest of its forces. It hurts.

It’s warm here, where I land. If I close my eyes…

I feel like I’m falling.

“Not yet. Not yet!”

My eyes snap open. The voice. It’s different. But also the same.

“You’re here!”

“I… am?” I push myself up off my belly, looking up into white and lilac metal. The petals fall around me, sticking to my bleeding wounds and wet, torn clothes. “You-” I realize I am speaking aloud. Is it not in my head, anymore? “The Shard,” I breathe. I've only ever looked down at it from above.

Something inside me tells me to reach out. Everything around me: the cold, the buzzing in my head, the pain... the enemies surrounding me fade away.

It's dark.

And then it's not.

-/


	3. I Become a Child of the Light

 

 

_ ThE LiGhT LiVeS iN ALL pLaCeS... _

 

When I open my eyes, I'm blinded. Everything is golden-white, like the sun. The voice speaking to me is different than the one from before, it permeates my body. I feel it in my soul. I should be frightened- 

 

_ iN aLL THiNgs… _

 

-but I am strangely at ease. I feel full. Lighter. My mind feels at the word. Lighter.  _ Light _ . Is this-? No. I can't. It can't!

 

_ YoU CaN bLoCk iT… _

 

No! I don't want this. I didn't ask for this. Panic wells within me. Wasn't I enough as I already am? The pieces are falling together. Cayde knew I would come here. He knew why. He knew when I told him. I didn't ask for this!

 

_ EvEn TrY To tRaP iT… _

 

Pick someone else! You're wrong! I'm not the one you want! My mind is screaming, but my mouth doesn't move.

 

“You are the one,” The other voice - the one that's been in my head - says, but it's not in my head anymore. I think I can see something in front of me. “I've been waiting for you.”

 

It burns hotter than any fire I've ever known, becoming me - and I, it. I don't get a choice in the matter. 

 

“We need you,” It tells me, and perhaps it is in my head since I haven't spoken aloud. “We have to fight.”

 

Something like futility settles in my bones. Absolution. This has to happen, doesn't it?

 

“It needs to,” The voice tells me. “It is our duty.”

 

Duty? I think of Zavala. Of Ikora. Of Cayde.

 

They didn't choose the light. They were chosen.

 

Duty. This is to be my duty. I was chosen, too.

 

So be it. I'll bear it. I can help them, can't I?

 

I only ever wanted to help.

 

“We can. We will. I'll be here with you. Don't be afraid.”

 

I am consumed.

 

_ BuT tHe LiGhT WiLL aLwAyS FiNd iTs WaY… _

 

“Eyes up, Guardian.”

 

-/

 

It feels like there's adrenaline in my veins, except I don't feel jittery. It feels like there is more space in my breaths, between each thundering beat of my heart. I feel powerful.

 

But more importantly, I feel  _ alive _ .

 

“Alright, let's do this.” There's an almost tinny quality to the voice now. It reminds me of an exo but it's different somehow. He floats above my hand.

 

“You're a…”

 

He's a-

 

There's a cheery bob, little plated cones shimmery and new. “That's right. I'm a ghost. Your ghost.”

 

Sweet skies above. My ghost. My. GHOST. Cayde must be rolling over in his grave right now. 

 

“Oh...kay. So this isn't a dream. You were-”

 

“Calling you, yes.”

 

“And I heard you.”

 

“You did.”

 

“How does that-”

 

“Most Ghosts have to revive a dead person. You made my job  _ a lot _ easier.”

 

Uhh… “You're welcome?” A clacking, popping sound catches my attention.

 

The Taken!

 

I should have known they wouldn't take the hint and get lost. 

 

“You need to fight them!”

 

Yeah. I got that, I think snidely. This little guy better not be like some other uptight Ghosts I know.

 

The ghost dissolves into sparks and light.

 

“Come on. What are you, a mind reader?”

 

There's a buzz in my head, but it doesn't feel weird or unpleasant or like I'm crazy - like before.  _ This is a neural link. No, I can't read your thoughts. But I know you. And your face gave it away.  _

 

“You do know this is weird, right?”

 

_ Think, Guardian. You don't have to say it aloud. _ He seems amused. Not upset. Whew. I'm uncomfortable. This is… intrusive. 

 

_ Ugh.  _ I'm really one of them now, huh.

 

There's a mechanical sound, like he's processing... something. Feels like my eyes are different, somehow. Sharper.

 

_ I've narrowed down the best route to get us out of here, and highlighted it for you. Take them out. _

 

My rifle appears before me - transmatted. It's strange but actually kind of cool. I'm probably going to have to get used to a lot of that, I guess. The weight feels familiar, but lighter, easier somehow. My eyes narrow. I can't say I'm going to be better at fighting than - uh - before, but I see the paths I need to take to get to higher ground, illuminated in my gaze. This is kind of cheating.

 

A stray shot hurdles over my shoulder.  _ To business, I guess. _

 

The Taken are coming at me.

 

No, I correct myself. They're coming at us. 

 

_ Eyes up. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, be on the lookout for the next story in this series. The first chapter will be up in the next week and will start where this one finishes. Thanks for reading!


End file.
